


sounds of winter

by monarchs



Category: The Social Network (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Animal Transformation, Cats, Christmas, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Piano, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 17:00:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21951742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/monarchs/pseuds/monarchs
Summary: Eduardo buys a secondhand piano from an antique store, years after he gave up being a pianist.Mark is a... well, Mark lives inside that piano. As a black cat.It's Christmas and magical things happen.
Relationships: Eduardo Saverin/Mark Zuckerberg
Comments: 8
Kudos: 34





	sounds of winter

**Author's Note:**

> Lol so I had a strange dream and thought I need to write it down in words. This is... what happened.
> 
> This is my Christmas fic to the markwardo fandom... 
> 
> Note: I don't play the piano and know next to nothing, but I tried. If there's something wrong with the piano aspects, let me know?? Thanks.

Once upon a November, a small boy of five called Eduardo started playing the piano at his father's behest. 

His piano was beautiful. It had fluted legs, a wide floral music desk, and its keys shone under moonlight. The first time he ever touched the instrument, it had been magical. 

His parents had to leave for a business trip soon after, and though he didn't like that idea very much, they had promised they'd be back before the holidays. He practiced the piano diligently every day, his finger finding the middle C, finding the Hanon exercises his instructor had taught him.

But on the first day of Hanukkah, Eduardo was writing his music theory homework alone in his father's study.

And on Christmas night, when the bell had rung and he had sprinted to the door, instead of his parents, it was his butler wearing a Santa hat, holding a brown-paper package. It contained a single copy of Beyer Op. 101, his father's signature on a receipt, and nothing else.

"Happy Christmas," his butler said, apologetic.

Eduardo looked down at the book, unable to look back up for fear his tears would show.  
  
  
  
*  
  
  
  
He hated the piano ever since.  
  
  
  
*  
  
  
  
Twelve years later, Eduardo's father passed away in a car accident. 

Things were never the same after that. 

Eduardo covered up his Charles R. Walter piano, shadows of the first snow dancing across the cloth. He burned his ABRSM diplomas and tattered music sheets the next day, in his backyard, watched them turn to ember.

Eduardo made three hundred thousand betting on oil futures the following summer, then attended and graduated from Harvard University _magna cum laude_ with a degree in economics, moved to New York city on a whim, one suitcase by his side as he looked up at his new apartment, his new life. 

Found a steady nine to five job as a buyer at a company that sold technological resources, called home maybe once a month, told his mom not to call him Edu anymore, told her he was doing okay.

Forgot about Lizst, long _Gaspard de la nuit_ nights, sore fingers, proper hand form, even simple arpeggios. 

Moved on, and never looked back.  
  
  
  
*  
  
  
  
Or, at least for eight years he hadn't.

But then as he waited for a taxi to show up on a cold November evening, he saw his reflection in the dark of a glass pane and thought of his father. The stern look on his face when he listened to Eduardo playing de Senneville's Mariage d'Amour on a February night.

Two days later, Eduardo came across an antique shop trying to sell off a Walter piano that looked very much like the one Eduardo grew up with. It was old, used, maybe loved and somewhat abused. One key or two, or three sounded off. The price was reasonable however, and before he knew it, he found himself handing over his credit card and scheduling a time to have the piano moved to his place.

At the end of the next day, the piano was there, sleeping soundly in a corner of his living room.

He popped open a bottle of wine to celebrate the occasion, and sat in an armchair, contemplating his purchase. 

He hadn't played the piano in more than eight winters now. 

"This is stupid," he said.

He stood up, turned on a lamp because it was getting dark, and stepped towards the piano. He opened the fallboard, touched the ornate music rack, eyes falling to the keys, hands hesitant.

 _Maybe not today_ , he thought, before closing the fallboard. The left hinge was a little loose though, so he opened it again, checking the hinge, exhaled and then headed to his bedroom, calling it a day.

But right when he was about to walk past the threshold of his bedroom, the piano played a chord.

He turned back abruptly and stared at the piano, a little bewildered. Had he imagined that? He eyed the string instrument for a good minute.

It stayed... quiet. As it should... be.

Eduardo blinked and turned away, murmuring at his glass, "this is some strong wine."

The piano then played three really really awful chords.

"Huh?" Eduardo said, turning back so fast he almost lost balance, but the piano remained reticent again.

This happened about two to three more times, and by the third time, Eduardo stomped towards the piano and glared at it.

"Hello? Are you sentient or something?" Eduardo asked, sounding a little shaken. "You're not being very clear."

The piano made a strange hissy noise, and the top board shook a little.

Eduardo blinked a few times. He scrutinized the piano, then took a deep breath and, very gingerly, opened the top of the piano.

Suddenly, without any warning whatsoever, a blur of black fur and sharp claws sprang out, and Eduardo screeched ungracefully.

"What the ^*#%^$+}##--!"  
  
  
  
*  
  
  
  
Okay.

Okay, okay. Okay. 

Okay. 

Eduardo tried to calm himself down as he waited in the hallway of a veterinarian clinic. But all he could do was repeat 'okay' because he couldn't get over the fact that _a feral black cat_ had jumped out of an old antique piano and attacked him.

The red "in progress" sign above him flickered noisily. Eduardo sighed before leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees, his face in his hands. Another chorus of 'okay's went by in his mind, but he was really far from being calm.

In fact, the situation was so ridiculous it stressed him out. The last time he had felt this way was with the Phoenix Club chicken, and that had not ended well at all.

The radio was playing at the counter. Currently it was broadcasting Chopin's Winter Wind. Eduardo had always disliked it, but for a second he found himself counting the tempo, playing the notes unconsciously with the tap of his fingers against the bench, imagining music sheets flipping in front of him.

And for a few seconds, he was calmer. Relaxed. 

Almost transported.

There was some noise coming from the operation room that sounded vaguely ominous, but Eduardo didn't think much of it, tried to remember not to be paranoid even though he had the right to be.

Then the noise escalated. Someone screamed. Glass shattered. Metal trays echoed against the floor. There was the sound of claws running against linoleum flooring, and the unbecoming cusses of very distressed people.

Next thing Eduardo knew, the door knob turned downwards, and a black cat slipped out and promptly pounced on Eduardo.

"What--" Eduardo shrieked.

"Where's the fucking cat?" the vet called from inside. There was some more crashing noises and a lot more curses.

Eduardo blinked, and the cat looked up at him with wide eyes, breathing a little hard. Now that the cat was still, Eduardo noticed how blue its eyes were.

"Okay," Eduardo deadpanned. Then they both turned their heads together to stare at the operation room door where the vet had just stormed out of.

The cat stood up in Eduardo's lap and started rubbing and purring against Eduardo rather uncharacteristically.

"What?" Eduardo stood up too, and the cat clung to him like its life depended on it. Sheepishly, Eduardo looked up at the veterinarian, who was now standing with an austere look on his face and his arms crossed over his chest, looking like Eduardo owed him both an explanation, and the cost to renovate an ER.  
  
  
  
*  
  
  
  
Mozart (now that Eduardo knew his gender) had gotten all his shots like a good boy but absolutely refused to get neutered. Which was the least strange of all his behaviour, so Eduardo didn't think too much about it, because it wasn't like Eduardo was over the fact that Mozart had actually sprung out of a piano.

It didn't seem like that was happenstance either. Mozart seemed very much attached to the piano, like it was the only thing familiar to him, like he was chained to it by invisible links. When they got back to Eduardo's apartment, Mozart dashed straight to the instrument and was at once much more relaxed.

"Yes, no one burnt the piano alive while you were out causing mayhem," Eduardo said sourly. 

Mozart looked at Eduardo with a sort of judgmental expression before tucking his feet under him to rest.

Feeling dismissed, Eduardo sighed. "Well, good night, Mozart," he said.

He didn't get an answer, but somehow he felt more at ease, and by the time he was in bed, fell asleep quickly thinking of Requiem and Piano Sonata no.11 in A major, his fingers drumming lightly against his bedsheets.  
  
  
  
*  
  
  
  
The next day Eduardo purchased a litter box and scooper, two bowls, a cat bed, dry cat food, canned fish, and a toy mouse.

Mozart completely ignored the toy mouse and cat food, was suspicious of the cat bed, but seemed pretty ecstatic about the canned fish and litter box.

"I'm glad your digestive system seems happy?" Eduardo said.

Mozart flicked his tail at him before turning around to check out his litter box again.  
  
  
  
*  
  
  
  
A few days went by. Mozart guarded the piano like it was his fort. He never really let Eduardo get too close; he would hiss or show off his claws if Eduardo did.

But then on the first day of December, Eduardo turned on the radio and listened to a station that was broadcasting piano versions of wintery movie songs.

Mozart had looked distant. When Eduardo reached out to pet him, he lashed out once, but after a moment, let Eduardo sit at the piano bench, and even touch the keys, while Mozart rested on top of the piano, watching vigilantly. 

"I haven't played the piano in years," Eduardo admitted at some point in the prolonged silence. He played an arpeggio or two and then smiled ruefully. His fingers still remembered.

Mozart sat up straight and meditated for a while as Eduardo let muscle memories carry him away.  
  
  
  
*  
  
  
  
They bonded over the piano. Which wouldn't have been so strange if Mozart wasn't a black cat who used to live in said piano.  
  
  
  
*  
  
  
  
But then things got even more absurd.

Because one night Eduardo remembered sleeping alone in his bed, with Mozart snoozing against his back. 

But the next morning, Eduardo woke up with sun in his face, and a naked man in his arms.  
  
  
  
*  
  
  
  
That had been especially rough to wrap his mind around.

Not the fact that the man was naked and that he was in bed with Eduardo, but more because, when he had asked the man who he was, the man had replied, "put simply, I've been a cat since 1999. I've been responding to the name Mozart for the past two weeks, but my name is actually Mark."

If that wasn't the most sobering self-introduction uttered in the century, Eduardo didn't know what could be.

"What?"

"This cannot be put any simpler."

"How did-- what?"

"Neither a lofty degree of intelligence nor imagination nor both together go to the making of a genius," Mark said rather airily.

Eduardo blinked. "What?"

"Mozart said that."

Eduardo took a deep breath. "Okay but-- what?" He emphasized the 'what'. "Wait, did you just-- was that an underhanded insult at my intelligence?"

"Well, I also think you play horrendously."

Convinced now that this man (who was kind of awful cute with his curly hair and small ears and curvy lips, but still very very naked) was his cat who lived in a piano, Eduardo hid his face behind his hands and tried not to cry.  
  
  
  
*  
  
  
  
When Eduardo was buying Mozar-- _Mark_ , three sets of new clothes, shoes, a toothbrush and a bag of Twizzlers, he had a moment of déjà-vu. He closed his eyes, trying to pull himself together. Mark waited by his side, fidgeting, glancing at a grand piano that was displayed in the middle of the department store.

Eduardo didn't say anything, but then Mark said, out of the blue, "my favourite composer is Rachmaninoff."

Eduardo paused at this. "Um. Would you have preferred it if I had called you Rachmaninoff?"

Mark scowled in an eerily similar way to when he was a cat. "The most natural response would be to tell me your favourite composer."

"Wait, you play?"

"I lived in a piano," Mark said.

Point. "Um, I guess I like... Bach?" Eduardo said. He didn't really have a favourite.

"Boring."

Eduardo licked his lips nervously, and then said, because it was really the only thing he could think about, "okay, but you lived inside a piano for eight years."

Mark gave him a sort of sour look before bobbing his head in agreement.  
  
  
  
*  
  
  
  
So.

Once upon a time, according to a cat who dwelled in a string instrument for eight years, there was a poverty-stricken child prodigy in a family of five called Mark. His father had passed away when he was only six, so his mother had to work twenty-four-seven, and left him and his sisters in the care of his mother's best friends, Mr. and Mrs. Albright. The Albrights were wealthy and had a daughter Mark's age who played the piano.

Mark learned alongside Erica, the Albright daughter, because the teacher didn't mind, and often ended up being praised by said teacher. But then one day, he won, instead of Erica, at a prestigious competition to which the Albrights had paid for his entrance fee. 

They had been furious, and so, they hired a mercenary witch and got her to curse Mark.

Eduardo thought this was probably a very biased backstory, but decided against voicing that out because really? A witch? What?

"What broke the curse?" Eduardo asked instead because he learned not to question strange happenings anymore.

Mark shrugged. "A number of things could have broken the curse."

It didn't answer the question at all, but Eduardo could tell from the way Mark looked away, that Mark didn't really know the answer either.

"Whose piano is this?" Eduardo then asked.

"Oh, it's my teacher's. Erica's teacher, that is. He was old. He passed away the same year."

"In 1999?"

"Yeah," Mark said. "He left the piano to me."

"My father passed away that year too," Eduardo said. "In a car accident."

Mark looked at Eduardo sorrily.

"It's okay," Eduardo said steadily. But after a few moments, Mark started playing Mariage d'Amour on the piano.

And then Eduardo thought about his father sitting there at the back of a room, listening attentively to Eduardo play, and suddenly Eduardo wasn't so okay anymore.  
  
  
  
*  
  
  
  
Mark's hands were really beautiful.

Eduardo could stare at them for days.

Could stare at _him_ for days.

Snow started falling as Mark played Nocturne No.20 in C-sharp, and moonlight shone softly against Mark's profile.

  
  
  
  
*  
  
  
  


December saw streets dressing up in garlands and fairy lights.

A week from Christmas, Eduardo brought Mark out to dinner.

"Are you going home for the holidays?" Mark had asked, a little too quietly.

"I haven't been home in a while," Eduardo admitted. "Already missed Hanukkah, anyways."

"You're Jewish?"

"Yeah."

"Me too," Mark said.

"Oh?"

Eduardo gave Mark another look, but ended up flushing as Mark stared back with blue blue eyes.

"Why haven't you been home?" Mark repeated.

Eduardo thought about Mark and his sisters. "How about you?"

Mark lowered his head, and there was a long pause. "I don't know where they are," he finally said.

Something inside Eduardo's chest tightened uncomfortably. He ate his rack of lamb silently, and then, when they were out in the streets again, watching snow flutter down, he decided that this year, he was going to do it.

He was going to go back home.  
  
  
  
*  
  
  
  
"I can take care of myself."

Mark didn't eat very much, and Eduardo didn't trust that he would eat anything at all if Eduardo left him alone, so Eduardo bought plane tickets for two, and if he had to drag Mark all the way to Newport, Rhode Island, he would.

"You'll like it."

"Isn't Newport just snow and mansions?"

"There are..." Eduardo thought hard, "there are beaches."

"You frequent beaches during winter?" Mark deadpanned.

"Okay, you got me. But you lived in a--"

"Let that go, Wardo," Mark said shortly.

Eduardo gave Mark a look. Mark never called him by his name ever. 

"It's Eduard--"

"Wardo," Mark said with finality.

Eduardo smiled frowningly and gave in. He kind of liked the sound of the nickname anyways. "Okay."

They followed the queue of people into the airplane after showing their plane tickets.

When they buckled their seatbelts, Mark started playing with the controls on the seat. A flight attendant bent down to talk to Eduardo, glancing at Mark every so often.

"Mark, do you need anything?" Eduardo asked.

Mark was thinking about his piano again, the way he was staring intently at the keyboard of the monitor remote control, Eduardo could tell, and for a second he felt a little guilty, but then Mark shrugged and shook his head at the flight attendant, giving her an expression of utter distrust.

The flight went well, otherwise. There was very little turbulence, and Mark had mostly played games on the monitor, his hands quickly accustomed to keyboards and game console buttons.

"Did you like being a cat?"

"Can you hear yourself?" Mark said pointedly.

Right, for someone like Mark, maybe it wasn't that fun being a cat.

"I mean, you could have been... a starfish," Eduardo said.

Mark didn't honour that with any response.

"What did you even eat?" Eduardo asked.

"Bread."

"How did you--"

"Bakery."

"What--"

"I stole bread from a bakery," Mark clarified testily. He then pointed at the baggage carousel. "There's your suitcase, Wardo."

Eduardo picked up the suitcase. They walked through a Nothing to Declare gate and entered the arrivals lobby. There was a man with a sign that read "Mr. E. Saverin and M. Mozart."

Mark frowned at it. Eduardo thought maybe he would have said _it's not funny_ or lashed out at him or something, but instead, Mark said, "did you prefer me as a cat?"

Eduardo shook his head, but couldn't quite find his words, especially not when the man with the sign approached them, a smile as wide as the Pacific Ocean or something, and said, "hey, so Joe retired, I'm your new driver, and my name's Dustin Moskovitz, I assume the madam has spoken to you about me?"  
  
  
  
*  
  
  
  
Dustin Moskovitz was a very likeable driver, but he wouldn't stop talking, so Eduardo never got the chance to tell Mark that no, he liked Mark the way he was.

Not that it would have been all that easy to say even without Dustin there, but still.

When they arrived at the mansion, Mark didn't speak, only stared at the vast space that was the entrance room.

It felt as empty as Eduardo had left it, all those years ago.

"The madam is away, unfortunately," Dustin said, and Eduardo nodded quietly, breathing in the familiarity, listening to the silent echoes of a house he grew up in.  
  
  
  
*  
  
  
  
"Hey Mark, about the--"

"I want to see your piano," Mark said. "You say it's like mine."

Eduardo nodded reluctantly. 

They walked into the piano room at the end of the hall. Everything was still covered, sleeping under a winter sun. Eduardo let out a sigh of relief, because he had been afraid that tourists were allowed in. But clearly, they weren't. 

Mark pointed at the drapes, asking tacitly for permission, which Eduardo quickly gave.

And when the piano was unveiled, Eduardo almost cried.

Memories and piano notes and forgotten lullabies filled him. Filled him up to the brim.

And Mark-- Mark was just there, fingers on the ivory keys, pressing gently, his eyes lowered, his lips slightly parted.

And he started playing.

The notes reverberated, reviving the room, filling the hollowness it once had.  
  
  
  
*  
  
  
  
Mark had flipped Eduardo's piano music scores for an entire day, after that.

And when he had probably read everything twice over, he walked up to Eduardo, who was shaving, and said he wanted to do Schubert's Fantasy in F minor. It was a piano duet, four hands over one keyboard.

"Sure?" Eduardo had replied, a little dumbstruck, "but like, now?"

"No, a century from now. Yes, now."

"I--" Eduardo pointed at his razor and also the probably not-visible enough shaving cream on his face.

Mark looked at him in a mock-stern way that sort of made Eduardo's heart skip.

"Okay, just. Give me two minutes?"

"One," Mark said.

"Jeez," Eduardo replied.  
  
  
  
*  
  
  
  
Eduardo ended up having to band-aid the underside of his cheek, but he was there, with Mark, sat together at the bench of the piano, in front of the tall windows with snow falling outside, his proximity to Mark giving him a rush of blood to the head.

"I don't know if I can read fast enoug--" he tried saying, but Mark started anyways, so Eduardo followed along.

"Slower," Mark said.

"Okay."

Eduardo was waiting for Mark to flip the page but realized belatedly that Mark already knew the song, so Eduardo flipped instead.

Their wrists brushed, their shoulders touched, their thighs knocked into one another.

Eduardo had never played a duet with someone else before, and that was when he realized that Mark must have, since he had learned alongside that Bright girl. Albright? Albright.

Maybe Mark was remembering those times. Maybe Mark was somewhere else, far away--

"Wardo, focus," Mark murmured softly, his pinky finger brushing against Eduardo's for a split second.

Eduardo swallowed hard, pressed a little harder, nodded.

They hadn't finished the song though, stopped after the Allegro vivace to take a break because Eduardo's hands was cramping from the trill and tremolos.

Eduardo looked at the introductory blurb of the piece, in his book, while Mark just sat at the piano, looking at it, especially the fallboard where the hinge wasn't loose.

_The Fantasia in F Minor is one of Franz Schubert's (1979-1828) greatest and most important works for piano four-hands. Composed in 1828 and dedicated to his pupil Esterházy with whom he was in unrequited love._

Eduardo stared at the words until they seemed to lift off the page and float.

"Wardo," Mark called out unsuspectingly. He had opened the top of the piano and was peering inside.

"Pretty sure the amenities would be the same in there," Eduardo said, nervous. He put down the piano book and walked over to Mark.

"No, that's not it," Mark said. "There's a letter."

He produced a yellowed envelope that had been inside the piano.

It was dated 1987.  
  
  
  
*  
  
  
  
_Dear Eduardo,_

_Your great-grandfather used to tell me music is the true panacea. Let me tell you: it is indeed._

_In times when I cannot be there for you, for which I am truly sorry, I hope this piano, the Queen Anne, will keep you company. I know that does not excuse my numerous absences both past and future, but this is all I know how to do. Forgive me._

_Sincerely,  
your father,  
Berto._

_November 14, 1987.  
_  
  
  
  
*  
  
  
  
Eduardo broke down.

Mark was there. They were at the piano bench and Mark's side was stuck to Eduardo's. It was comforting. It was probably meant to be, because Mark wasn't exactly a touchy-feely person but he was very feline when comforting, and maybe Mark only knew how to do it this way.

"I hated him, and the piano," Eduardo said around quiet tears. "For all these years."

Mark had fingers on the keys, but he wasn't playing anything.

"I miss my teacher, too," Mark said.

Eduardo smiled sadly, and they sat for while. Finally, he wiped the tears off his cheeks and laughed, saying, "sorry I'm a total mess--"

"I think the nearest tissue paper is about five miles away," Mark teased softly. The house was indeed too big.

Eduardo laughed more whole-heartedly. 

Mark stared.

And Eduardo caught him staring, and he stopped laughing, and then he was lost in those eyes, cheesy as that was.

Mark bit his lower lip, and then said, "Wardo, I like you."

"Yeah, me too," Eduardo replied, smiling softly. "And not just as a cat."

Mark licked his lips nervously. "I mean. I like you-- _like_. Like," Mark said, stopped, flushing up.

Eduardo leaned in and kissed him.  
  
  
  
*  
  
  
  
It was more magical than he had imagined.

And Mark kissing back was almost... spellbinding. Eduardo could hear piano notes in the distant, the snow falling outside, the sound of peace in his heart.

"Merry Christmas, Wardo," Mark said, against Eduardo's lips.

"Merry Christmas, Mark," Eduardo said back, kissing Mark's next words away.

**Author's Note:**

> Merry Christmas!!!!!!!!! Comments would make my year!!!!! And the next year, I swear. Viva Markwardo!


End file.
